


Horizon Dreams

by panpinecone



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Animal Transformation, Bestiality, Dream Sex, Face Slapping, Fish, Fish/Human Hybrids, Ocean Sex, Original Character Death(s), Other, Painful Sex, Pet Names, Rough Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpinecone/pseuds/panpinecone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high seas mission takes a turn for the unexpected when Ocelot meets a helpful tuna. His dreams somehow take an even more unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horizon Dreams

Ocelot made his way through the busy fish market, eyes taking in all the offerings on display. Nothing managed to hold his attention for long, and he confidently strode towards the mission's next objective.

Unexpectedly, his gaze landed on something that made his blood run cold, brisk steps coming to a stop.

Mere feet away was the decapitated head of his lover, displayed for all to see. "T- Tuna-chan—" he sobbed out, tears falling from his pretty eyelashes. "I never had a chance to say it, and it's too late now, but... I love you, Tuna-chan. I should've told you sooner. I'm sorry."

 

* * *

 

Oce-kun and Tuna-chan met when Ocelot was out on a mission for Diamond Dogs. A convoluted and not-at-all interesting set of circumstances resulted in him traveling by sea in a small fishing vessel. None of the original crew was left, so he had the place entirely to himself.

At one point, he’d decided to entertain himself by re-enacting scenes from Westerns, walking from one side of the deck to the other, dramatically waving his arms out and reciting lines from memory.

His fun was interrupted by a flash wave dangerously tipping the boat to the side, throwing him off-balance and sending him smashing against the railing. After a moment’s fumbling, down into the water he went, where he then clawed wildly at the side of the boat, wondering how in the world he was going to get back onto the deck.

As he glared up at the railing, contemplating his current predicament, he felt something nudge his side and turned towards it, only to find himself confronted by an enormous glossy eye staring straight at him. A tiny shriek of surprise nearly escaped him, only just barely held back as he observed the thing a moment longer. Judging by the body the eye was attached to, he'd been nudged by a tuna.

He let out a relieved sigh instead, finding the prospect of being watched by a tuna much less distressful than by virtually anything else the eye could’ve belonged to. The tuna balefully looked back at him, and sparing it a final glance, he refocused on finding a way back onto the boat, circling the perimeter in search of an opening.

The tuna followed him as he went, its once-bearable presence becoming downright unnerving the more time passed. Did it want to eat him? He wasn't aware tunas could be carnivorous towards humans.

Or maybe it was waiting for him to drown? Still weird.

Eventually, after circling the boat twice, he was forced to admit temporary defeat, having failed to discover any immediate way to get back on deck, try as he might.

While there was definitely a spot low enough to be tempting, he couldn’t possibly reach it unless he had somewhat of a boost. The tuna seemed to snuggle against him as he tried to think of a plan, but its affection was wasted; a morale boost was of no practical use to him.

"I don't suppose you'd let me stand on you or anything, hm?" he asked, giving his fishy friend a half-smile. To his surprise, it seemed to still for a moment, then withdrew from his side. Slowly, it turned to face the boat and froze in position.

Ocelot stared at it and it stared back, steadfastly remaining in its chosen spot. Hardly believing the situation could be what it looked like, he swam closer, expecting the tuna to dart away at his approach. He was astonished to see that it stayed put, apparently determined in its task. But what was its task?

He didn’t like the thoughts running through his mind, but he needed to get back on that boat, and desperate times called for desperate measures. So what if he employed some unorthodox methods? The tuna could swim away whenever it liked.

Tentatively, he positioned himself over it, and brought his feet onto its back. Letting the tuna bear his weight bit by bit, he carefully tried to stand, hoping to grab hold of the railing before he lost his footing. The tuna, however, let him stand to his full height, fully supporting him. He was nearly high enough to reach the railing; he just needed a tiny push—

He was startled by the fish quickly rising, its buoyancy giving him the necessary momentum to reach up and hook his fingers onto the railing. Tightly gripping the bar beneath his hands, he hauled himself up and over the railing, gracelessly flopping across the top and onto the deck.

Once safely aboard, he leaned over the railing, looking for his would-be savior and spotting it a few feet away, practically staring back at the boat. Or him. He wasn't sure which, but felt that he should show his gratitude either way. In his experience, a bit of reciprocity could go a long way.

Making a split-second decision, he turned and rushed down to the boat's makeshift kitchen, determined to thank his fishy friend. Rummaging around in the cabinets for a few minutes, all he managed to find were sardines. Nothing else seemed like a viable option, so he grabbed the tin and ran back on deck, hoping the tuna hadn't left in his absence.

To his delight, he found it right where it’d been, still staring back forlornly. Eager to thank it for its kindness, he rolled open the tin of sardines and scooped out a few, tossing them in its direction.

Instead of moving towards the offered snacks, the tuna remained motionless, not showing them the barest hint of acknowledgment.

Bewildered at its disinterest, Ocelot wondered if perhaps the tuna hadn't seen him throw the sardines. It should still smell them, shouldn't it? Or maybe it preferred food to be presented directly rather than thrown? But that would require him to go meet it, and he didn't exactly cherish the idea of leaping back into the sea. Especially not after all the effort they'd both gone through to get him back out.

Wait a second, he could tie a rope to the railing, couldn't he? Then he wouldn't have to stand on the poor tuna's back a second time. His clothes were still wet though, and he ought to be drying them out, not hopping in the water again.

He thought over his options as the midday sun bore down on him, his still-dripping outfit providing temporary relief from the suffocating heat. Ocelot jumped to attention at the observation, instantly figuring out how he could solve all his problems in one fell swoop: The sun! It was a hot-enough day that he could very well dry his clothes on the boat's railing, leaving him free to return to the ocean and properly thank the tuna.

Mind settled on the idea, he fetched a rope and threw it over the boat's side, tying it onto the railing. He then hastily made away with his clothes and tied them to the railing as well, ensuring they wouldn't slip overboard.

Finally, he picked up the half-empty tin of sardines, closed the lid, and jumped into the water, paddling his way over to the tuna, stubbornly clinging to the notion that he should convey his gratitude through a show of generosity. It watched his approach unwaveringly, mysterious as ever. The behavior positively fascinated Ocelot, as he'd never in his life known fish could act as intelligently as the tuna had in just the past hour.

Stopping a few feet short of where it floated, he unrolled the tin's cover again and scooped out a few sardines, plopping them into the water.

The tuna continued staring.

Refusing to give it up as a lost cause, Ocelot scooped out a few more sardines and inched his hand closer to its mouth. Maybe it preferred to being fed directly?

Suddenly, the tuna jerked open its jaw and lurched forward, trapping Ocelot's entire hand inside it. Its teeth dug into his wrist and blood tainted the water.

Driven by sheer instinct, Ocelot let go of the tin and attempted to pull away, only resulting in the teeth digging deeper into his wrist and more red spilling out. Despite his mounting panic, he forced himself to stay still and think of a solution. Would it release its hold on him if he slapped it? Or would that make it angry?

Before he could make up his mind, the tuna opened its mouth, freeing his arm, and swam backwards. He froze, unsure if he should turn his back on it and hightail it back to the boat. What if it came after him?

In no hurry to get his feet bitten off, he waited. It was a stand-off, just like one of his Italian Westerns.

As casually as possible, Ocelot drifted backwards, away from the tuna. Managing to create a few feet of space between them, he'd just started thinking he might actually make it back to the boat, when abruptly the tuna jumped forward again, crashing its head into his stomach and leaving him winded.

Gasping for air, he flailed at the waves, desperate to stay afloat even as his lungs refused to work right. He felt the tuna nudging along his body, probably readying to chomp down a second time. It brushed along his side, then his back, then traveled lower. There was another prod and—

Oh, fuck, why was the tuna prodding him _there_ of all places!? Despite his mounting apprehension, he didn't let himself dwell on it long, since remedying a lack of oxygen tended to take mental priority.

He continued his thrashing, trying to head for the boat as the tuna continued forcing its way between his thighs. As his lungs started working properly again, he briefly debated on whether attacking the tuna would scare it away or just result in it biting him again.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as it lunged up, making a valiant attempt at breaching him headfirst. Ocelot let out a shocked yelp, abandoning all pretense and hurriedly kicking his legs towards the boat. He could sense the tuna catching up to him, and sure enough, he felt it push at his ass again.

The boat was too far and he didn't have enough energy. What was the murderous fish going to do? His mind ran through hundreds of scenarios as he swam, willing his muscles not to give out. The tuna's teeth grazed along the curve of his ass and he whirled around, preferring to go down fighting than trying to escape.

As soon as he turned, the tuna began swimming around him, once more attempting to attack his backside. Frantically, he kept turning, resolving to keep it within eyesight at all times.

A few minutes passed with both of them spinning wildly around each other until Ocelot, too dizzy to continue, finally stopped to shut his eyes. He hoped he hadn't just completely exhausted himself, even though it seemed highly likely.

He gulped, feeling the tuna push at him. He was too frustrated, his heart was racing, he was hyperventilating...

Focusing on staying afloat was his priority, even as he felt the tuna continue to nose around, digging into his backside. His eyes flew open when it pushed directly against his entrance, but he had absolutely no energy left to keep fighting it.

Instead, he willed himself to slow his breathing, to think of John and how happy he'd be once Ocelot returned from the mission with a fishing vessel. Diamond Dogs would definitely find a use for it. He’d be contributing _so much_...

If only he made it back.

His daydreams came crashing down the moment the tuna forced itself into him. Fuck, _it hurt_ , how deep could it possibly be anyway? Another thrust forward, and Ocelot stretched wider around it. Gingerly reaching down, he tried to assess if any damage had been done, but his fingers' journey was blocked off by the tuna's body.

Before he could further evaluate what was happening, a cloud of milky-white was surrounding him. Was it the tuna's? What even...

_Oh_.

The realization hit Ocelot right as the tuna pushed up into him again, most definitely tearing something. He flushed as he realized it was starting to feel—

_No_ , he refused to think of getting fucked by a tuna as being anywhere in the vicinity of 'good'. It was bad enough that he'd put himself into the situation, he didn't need to go all-out and _enjoy it_.

The tuna continued shoving into him, but even as his body opened wider for it, he felt the unmistakable pain of tearing growing worse. He wasn’t sure he could take much more, never mind the way his dick was swelling from the pressure against his prostate. The tuna was relentless, and he wondered how long either of them would last.

"St- stop it, Tuna," he rambled, adamant that it wouldn't fuck him into having an orgasm. Clearly, it didn't understand, ignoring him in favor of increasing the force of its thrusts.

In a daze, Ocelot noted that he was fully hard, and nervously squeezed his dick. He may have done thousands of questionable things throughout his life, but he refused to add 'fucked by a fish and enjoyed it' to the list. However, try as he might, the stimulation was too much, and he felt himself drawing closer and closer to release.

Nearing his orgasm by the minute, his pleas turned to babbling, all rationality lost. "Tu... na... ahh... ch... _ahh!"_ he whined as he found his release, body clenching around the tuna and dick spilling ropes of cum into the ocean.

In all the commotion, he was disoriented to find himself pressed against the side of the boat, the tuna's thrusts having propelled him towards it the whole time. Even with the rope to safety dangling mere feet away though, he could barely keep himself above the water, simply leaning against the boat and letting the tuna continue to have its way with him.

And have its way the tuna did, inching further inside and his body somehow accommodating it.

After what seemed like hours, it stopped pushing and completely retreated, leaving Ocelot stretched out beyond his usual limits. Chest heaving, he apprehensively turned to check if it’d actually left.

To his chagrin, it was still there, and as soon as their eyes locked, it turned and headed towards the rope hanging from the boat's railing, almost as if guiding him to it. He followed with shaky movements, entirely too lost in his thoughts to object or raise questions.

Firmly grabbing hold of the rope, he pulled himself up ever so carefully, body still quivering from exhaustion and shock.

Once back on the deck, he collapsed, not even bothering to go inside or pull his clothes back on.

He didn't check whether the tuna was still lurking down there, or if Mother Base had tried to contact him.

He just lay still, thoroughly spent from the past hour's activity. His eyes blankly watched the passing clouds, seeking a distraction. Before he knew it, all the exertion caught up to him, and he let the rocking of the boat lull him into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he awoke. It would’ve helped if he'd paid even the slightest bit of attention to the sun before falling asleep, but he hadn't even paid attention to the state of _himself;_ how the hell was he expected to have looked at the sun?

Thankfully, it was still day out, though only just barely. He rushed to sit up, wincing when the motion made his backside ache, bringing the memories of what had happened to the forefront of his mind.

That was right, he'd been fucked by a tuna. He even _came_ from it.

Hopping up, he untied his clothes from the railing, glad to find they were fully dry. Pulling them on, he made it a point not to look over and see if that blasted tuna was still there. Who did it think it was!? As if it could even _hope_ to gain Ocelot's interest by way of a forced mating...

Well, maybe it had been an honest mistake, and the tuna had simply misinterpreted his initial kindness. Then again, it did help him before that, granting an easy way back onto the boat when he'd fallen off. If not for its goodwill, Ocelot might've drowned with no one the wiser. All things considered, the tuna had treated him perfectly courteously from the very start.

A blush rose in his cheeks and he shook his head, hoping to purge the thought from his mind.

Just as he was turning to go back inside and get some proper rest, he halted in his tracks, curiosity getting the best of him. Cursing his weakness, he cast a quick glance overboard, but couldn't make out anything in the sunset's fading light.

Convincing himself that the tuna must’ve left, he scoffed and went down into the boat, thankful that he could put the entire incident behind himself and continue on his way back to Mother Base. He drank several glasses of water and got ready for bed, content in the knowledge that the tuna wouldn't return.

 

* * *

 

Morning came, and Ocelot slowly stretched awake, the very embodiment of a lazy cat. Blinking his eyes open, he vaguely recalled something important happening the day before, and as soon as the memory returned, he scrambled up, running up to the deck and leaning over the railing.

The tuna was nowhere to be seen.

He breathed a sigh of relief, ready to deny the entire incident ever happened, when he heard a very distinctive _bloop_ behind him. Slowly, he turned to stare at the other side of the boat, hardly daring to check if his suspicions were correct.

Gathering his resolve, he walked the few feet to the opposite side, took a breath to steel himself, and peered down at the water.

At first, everything seemed as normal as ever, just an expanse of blue reaching as far as he could see. But then came a definitive shifting of shadows and the tuna emerged, flat eyes triumphant, as if it knew exactly how its presence would affect him.

Ocelot's throat constricted around a gasp. Goddammit, he'd been prepared to put this behind him, to forget he'd enjoyed a tuna fucki—

The tuna jumped into the air, landing back in the water with a loud splash. Ocelot's eyes narrowed, giving it a death glare it surely couldn't understand the meaning behind, but which most assuredly made him feel better about his circumstances.

He still had about forty hours before he reached Mother Base. Forty hours of that blasted fish trailing around beside the boat. Dammit, he could do this. He _could_.

With a huff, he turned on his heel and stormed back inside, determined to avoid thinking about the incident at whatever cost. Just two days.

The first one went wonderfully. Ocelot ran around the boat, making sure everything was in working order, fixing himself snacks, quoting Westerns out loud, and generally having a great time on what was essentially a very short, unintended vacation. He went to bed early, content with both life and his overall situation, and prepared himself to dream of John and the Wild West.

To his horror, the dreams took a very different turn, morphing from a desert landscape to an underwater one, from the feel of John’s rough skin to the touch of something cold and slippery, and from what he'd have liked to happen, to a new and improved version of what had _actually_ happened.

 

* * *

 

Twisting and shifting, the dream slowly but steadily surfaces from the haze of Ocelot’s subconscious.

He sees himself swimming around, somehow able to breathe underwater, and fully naked, nothing surrounding him but the ocean floor and the leagues of blue all around him.

Out of nowhere, the tuna appears, blocking his vision.

He turns, hoping to get away, but it's still there. Or is that another one?

He spins in circles, realizing he's been surrounded by tunas. They begin closing in on him, and there's nowhere to go. Unless...

Kicking off from the ocean floor, he frantically swims for the surface, chancing a quick glance down to see if the tunas are following him.

They most certainly are, and when he twists his head back around, he comes face to face with another horde of them.

He's trapped, blocked off from all possible directions, with no place to go.

Nervously, he waits as the fish converge on him, the look in their glossy eyes predatory. The closer they get, the more he panics, and right as they're about to swim into him, his eyes slam shut.

He waits, fear and apprehension twisting in his gut, desperate to claw their way out.

Time passes, and miraculously, nothing happens.

It's been too long, too quiet, too painless, and he opens his eyes only to find that the dream has shifted once more.

He's now on what looks like a beach, lounging back in a chair with a drink in his hand. A tiny decorative umbrella rests on the glass’s rim.

He looks up when a shadow falls across the umbrella, eyes meeting John's.

_John!_

He's so glad to see him, he could start crying. Instead, he grins and John returns it, lips stretching wide, then wider, then wid—

Ocelot watches on in horror as John transforms, nose growing, eyes parting, and that terrible, terrible smile.

Soon enough, the metamorphosis is complete, and a terrifying half-human, half-fish hybrid stands before him.

The Tuna-Man reaches down and aggressively grabs his ankles, hauling him down from his sitting position. The drink topples from his hand, tiny umbrella landing perfectly upright in the sand.

Too shocked by not-John’s transformation, Ocelot lets his legs be thrown apart without protest, the Tuna-Man moving between them. He feels the head of a _definitely_ inhuman dick pressing against him, and finally chokes out, " _Stop!_ Wait a minute!"

The hybrid pauses, glaring at him with a single eye. Somehow, John's eyepatch remains in place, obscuring the other one.

Or is it just a socket now? Ocelot isn't sure, and the absurdity of the question makes him pause long enough that the creature carries on with its antics, sliding into him with a quick thrust.

The lack of ensuing pain betrays the scenario’s dreamy nature, but he gets carried away in the sensations nonetheless.

Why does it feel so good?

_Why can't he stop thinking of fish?_

Ocelot's so focused on the mutation above him, _fucking him_ , that he doesn't even notice the rippling of the ocean.

But when something begins rising out of the water, making its way towards the beach where he and the not-John were relaxing, his focus is redirected.

As it approaches the beach, it becomes evident that the dark mass it isn't just one thing, but several. Maybe even hundreds?

Yes, hundreds of them. All men with tuna heads. They even look a little familiar.

Ocelot wonders if they're the same tunas from before.

In the blink of an eye, the tuna-men are all on the beach, surrounding him and the one currently fucking him. He feels a twinge of self-consciousness at being subjected to all their unwavering stares.

Abruptly, he’s yanked off the chair and onto the rough, sandy ground. The Tuna-Man brusquely flips him over and shoves its dick back in as one of the other tuna-men approaches.

Ocelot's eyes move to its dick. Its oddly blue, wriggling dick.

Suddenly, the dick grows eyes.

Taken aback, Ocelot stares at the newly transformed dick, now a tuna.

It swings and painfully whacks his face, effectively cockslapping him. To add insult to injury, he suddenly feels something wriggling in his ass. It marks a change from the usual thrusting, and he glances over his shoulder to see what's happening.

The Tuna-Man fucking him seems to have morphed his dick as well, and to Ocelot's horror, the base of it is that same all-too-familiar blue-grey.

Oh, no.

_He has a tuna-dick in his ass._

The Tuna-Man's tuna-dick keeps squirming inside of him, and now the one in front of him won't stop slapping his face. More tuna-men are approaching, and Ocelot doesn't know what to do. What do they want? What's happening? Why is he nearly about to c—

No, wait. He _is_.

 

* * *

 

With a start, Ocelot's eyes flew open and he leapt halfway out of bed, the unexpected orgasm more than enough to jolt him out of the dream. Though he’d tried to keep a cool head, there were some things that just couldn’t be repressed, and the subconscious was one of them. His rapid breathing slowed as he began trying to get his thoughts in order.

The entire experience had been bizarre, but then, so had the past few days’ events, and after a considerable amount of deliberation, he knew what he had to do.

Stomping up to the deck and striding to the railing, Ocelot looked down, growing upset at the lack of tuna.

He stomped to the opposite side and checked overboard. Not there either.

"I know you're still here, you asshole!" he yelled, frustrated at his current state of affairs. The tuna's absence continued, and Ocelot lost his patience. "Either you come up or I'm coming down there!" he yelled again, all rationality having left him somewhere around the time when he came from being fucked by a goddamn tuna.

With a huff, he got the rope.

Tying it to the railing, he began removing his clothes, angrily watching the waves for the tuna’s return. Alas, it remained all the more conspicuous for its absence, and Ocelot, finally ready, leapt into the ocean once more.

He circled around the boat a few times, eyes scanning the water. "Where are you hiding?" he murmured under his breath, continuing the search. The minutes ticked by without even a glimpse of his fishy friend.

Could it really be gone? Ocelot could hardly believe it; it had to be a miracle!

Inexplicably, he felt a pang thrum in his chest at the thought. Disgruntled at the sentimentality fueling it, he made his way back around to the rope, internally fussing all the way.

Why should he _care_ if he never saw the damn tuna again? It brought nothing but trouble. He was much better off forgetting all about it. Yes, he’d get back on the boat and cheerfully go about his day, looking forward to his triumphant return to Diamond Dogs. Only...

The tuna _had_ helped him. And despite his awareness of society’s rules, his experience with it _had_ been pleasurable.

Fuck, _no_ , he wasn't supposed to think like that!

Angrily, he reached a hand towards the rope, but just as he grabbed hold of it, a nudge at his side caught his attention.

Looking down, he saw the tuna staring expectantly up at him.

A flurry of memories and emotions whirled through his mind, all jumbling together in a twisted, incomprehensible disarray, and before he knew it, he'd let go of the rope and scooped the tuna into his arms, hugging it tight as if never wanting to let go.

The fish flailed its tail, wriggling against his arms.

Oh, right, it needed to breathe. Ocelot gulped in some air and plunged down into the water, peering at the newly calmed tuna in his grasp.

It wormed upwards, nuzzling his face before shooting from his grip and circling him playfully. He reached for it, only to have it to dart away, swimming to his other side. Again he reached, and again it dodged, clearly enjoying teasing him.

Feeling his lungs begin to burn, Ocelot surfaced to take a few breaths, seeing the dark shadow of the tuna nearing the surface alongside him. Quickly, he dove back down, taking advantage of the tuna's closeness. "Gotcha!"

Squirming out of his arms again, it gently nipped at his body with soft bites, dodging his hands all the while. Ocelot almost let out a laugh at the ticklish sensation before remembering he'd do well to conserve his oxygen.

It seemed the tuna enjoyed playing some fishy version of tag with him, and when he next came up for air, despite knowing it wouldn't understand, he explained, "Wait a second, I'm going to go get you a snack, okay?"

And with that, he climbed up the rope and onto the boat, dashing to the kitchen again. Once there, he searched the cabinets and managed to find another tin of sardines, then scurried back out and leapt into the water without hesitation.

"Tuna! Where are you, Tuna?" he called out, opening the tin as he spoke. "It doesn't feel right calling you just 'Tuna', by the way," he muttered as he worked at the lid, "maybe I should add a prefix. Or a suffix."

His mind helpfully supplied him with a few choice memories of what he'd choked out as he came from the tuna's ministrations, and he blushed before realizing it’d sounded oddly coherent. "’Tuna... Chan’? That could be good," he chuckled, rolling open the tin. From the few times he'd paid attention to Miller's rants, he'd understood 'chan' to be a Japanese honorific, so surely it'd make sense.

But what about himself? He couldn't give Tuna-chan an honorific and not himself. What would go with 'chan'? Maybe...

"'Oce... Kun'? What do you think, Tuna-chan?" Ocelot asked, looking around. Still no sign of it. He frowned, wondering where it could’ve swum off to. Was it trying to surprise him once more?

Quickly, he darted under the water and twirled around, fiercely seeking it out. Yet again, he was forced to surface and take a breath before retrying.

After repeating the process a few times, he elected to swim around the boat, calling for Tuna-chan as he went, but his search yielded no results. Where had it gone? He wasn't away _that_ long...

Ocelot contemplated his options before deciding to return to the boat and patiently wait for a familiar splash, relaxing in the comfort and convenience of the deck. Determined to beat Tuna-chan at its own game, he listened attentively, but after hours of silence, he finally pulled his clothes back on and made his way into the boat.

After sending a message to Diamond Dogs, letting them know to expect him soon, he spent the rest of the day uneventfully. His throat constricted in sadness as he approached his final destination, knowing he’d likely never see Tuna-chan ever again.

Well, whatever. What did it matter anyway? It was just a tuna. A very friendly, very helpful tuna, but a tuna all the same.

That night at Mother Base, back in his own bed, he fell asleep to the taste of salt.

 

* * *

 

The last time Oce-kun and Tuna-chan met was during Ocelot’s next mission, wandering the streets and posing as a civilian, his impromptu lover the farthest thing from his mind.

And then he saw it. A glossy eye, a gaping mouth: It was Tuna-chan. Or, more accurately, Tuna-chan's head. Ocelot’s heart shattered into a hundred pieces. He thought he'd known loss, and it was true, he had.

But this? This was beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

"I should've told you sooner. I'm sorry."

**Author's Note:**

> Revised from its original state. Added details, reworded sentences, and improved overall flow. First version anonymously submitted as a series of asks at: [thatkindoffangirl.tumblr.com](http://thatkindoffangirl.tumblr.com)
> 
> Inspired by these posts:  
> [panpinecone.tumblr.com/post/119703838658](http://panpinecone.tumblr.com/post/119703838658)  
> [panpinecone.tumblr.com/post/126802365843](http://panpinecone.tumblr.com/post/126802365843)


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